


time to leave (and turn to dust)

by casfallsinlove



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 9.03 coda, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 09:05:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casfallsinlove/pseuds/casfallsinlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"But I'm here, I'm <b>staying</b>. That is what you’ve been asking for, <b>praying</b> for"</i> you want to argue.</p>
<p>But you don’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	time to leave (and turn to dust)

**Author's Note:**

> title from 'to build a home' by the cinematic orchestra 
> 
> originally on [tumblr](http://casfallsinlove.tumblr.com/post/64896799365).

"You can't stay," he says, and you forget how to breathe. 

Part of you wants to accept this, to shoulder it with pride and leave with your dignity intact. To not be needy, a burden. But all you can think about is the rain outside, the constant hunger, the eternal running and the craving for sleep that won't come, and what comes out of your mouth is, "Dean.  _Please."_

And Dean's face just  _crumples_ , in unmasked pain and regret. You don't comprehend. If he wants you to leave, why is he so sad about it? 

"Cas, man, you gotta know you're a walking target--if that April chick found you, then more can. Sam is... Sammy's still recovering. It's--"

And now you understand. "It's a risk you can't take."

Dean's eyes are glassy. "I'm--it fucking sucks."

Yes, yes it does. For such a long time all you have wanted is to be here, right _here_ by Dean's side. Until three minutes ago you thought you'd finally achieved that. _'But I'm here, I'm **staying**. That is what you've been asking for, **praying** for'_  you want to argue, but you don't. 

"Shall I leave now?" you ask, and the chair scrapes against the floor as you stand. 

Dean looks aghast. "No. No, jeez. Not right this second. We can--let me get you some stuff, all right?"

Neither of you suggest waiting until the morning. You think that might make it even harder, and you're already questioning your ability to step out of that door. 

Sam isn't around, and you almost will him to be because maybe he can persuade Dean otherwise. Maybe he'd insist that you stayed. But no, Sam isn't around, and you're following Dean somewhere that isn't the front door but is no less terrible.

"Just... come in here for a minute," he says, opening the door to his bedroom. You follow, nervous. It's a nice room, if a little bare. There is one pillow in the middle of the bed and there is something both sweet and sad about that, you find. 

"Take a seat," Dean tells you, and starts rummaging through a closet. "I know I've got--yes, here we go."

He starts pulling out clothes; various shirts, sweatpants, a pair of jeans. A dark grey sweater that looks unworn. A neat pile starts to build beside you, threatening to topple off the end of the mattress. 

"We pick stuff up, you know," he is explaining, but he can't look you in the eye. "I don't think I've worn most of this. Or not for years, anyway. We're about the same size, right?"

Oh, they're for you. It's a kind gesture, and one you certainly appreciate, but...

"There's probably a pair of sneakers or something in here, too."

"Dean."

"Hopefully they'll fit."

You sigh and examine the shoes. Clean and white. Still with the tags on. "I am very grateful."

"Don't be," Dean snaps, harsh and gruff. Guilty. He still looks away. Anywhere but at you.

He reaches back into the closet, fishes out a large backpack. It's fairly nondescript; dark green, camouflaged in design. Perfect for a person trying to stay hidden.

Dean neatly folds the clothes into it, sneakers on the top of the pile. "I got other stuff," he says, leading the way out of the room and down the hall. It's the bathroom, you realise, and it strikes you that you might have just had your final shower for a long time. Had you known, you would have made it last longer.

You stand close behind Dean as he opens cabinets and extracts various objects. Plastic-wrapped toothbrush (which _would_ make using your toothpaste easier), bandages, a fluffy white towel, antiseptic cream, shampoo, two bars of soap, a bright yellow comb and several small foil squares. 

"Protection, Cas.  _Protection._ " Dean smirks, a small ghost of a thing that makes your chest ache. His words are more befuddling than if he'd said nothing at all, but you nod all the same. 

Everything goes in the backpack. You perform a circuitous loop back into the command room, and this time Dean grabs a cardboard box off a shelf and reaches into it. A second later and he's pressing a cell phone and charger into your hand. It's a little like the one you had all those years ago. You wonder where that went.

"One of our prepaid burner cells. Both mine and Sam's numbers are already in it. Call if you get into trouble," he says, brow creased in worry. Part of you wants to smooth the lines away with your thumb, like April had done for you.

You don't, of course.

"Yes, Dean."

"I mean it, Cas. Or if you just wanna talk or--y'know. Whatever. I've got that number too. I'll check in."

That would be nice, you think, but then wonder if speaking to Dean on the phone would make the ache in your chest better or worse. Both, perhaps. It did last time.

"Okay," you promise nonetheless.

Dean sighs, and it seems like he can't stop looking at you now. This time it's your turn to gaze at the floor. "Cas..." he murmurs, broken and soft. Then he shakes his head, reaches into his pocket. "Here."

A few neatly stacked notes are pushed into your palm. "Dean, I don't want your money." Because that would be too much like paying you off, like charity. You've taken enough from Dean already.

"Just have it, Cas, please," Dean begs and his warm hand is forcing your fingers closed around the bills. "I'd give you more but it's all I got on me. It's for a room. Or food, or whatever."

It will be useful, certainly. To be able to eat  _and_ sleep somewhere warm. To buy a bottle of water  _and_ a candy bar.

"Thank you."

Somehow, you end up at the front door. There is nothing left now to delay your departure. It's very dark outside, still drizzling. Dean remains within arm's reach, yet you feel incredibly lonely.

"Will you say goodbye to Sam for me?" you ask, and he nods. The silence stretches. You sling the backpack onto one shoulder.

"Cas," Dean whispers, and that sad look is back on his face. "Fuck, this is--for what it's worth, I don't want to do this. At all."

_So why are you?_  

You want to yell at him, until he caves and brings you back into the warmth.

You want to punch him, to make him hurt like you are hurting.

You want to kiss him, suddenly and fiercely, to find out what intimacy with Dean would be like.

It would be lovely, you think. To hear him moan, to feel his burning fingers on your flesh. 

You want to do all these things, so you say, "Goodbye, Dean," and take a step into the frigid outside air, instead.

"Cas, wait!" he calls after you, and hope flares bright and warm in your belly, but he doesn't allow you back in. He doesn't tell you that he's making a mistake. 

He brings you into his torso and hugs you. You're a little taken aback, and you're reminded of a time when Dean fought monsters to find you and fought monsters to keep you by his side. 

Your arms slowly move up, encircling his waist. There's a small puff of hot air against your neck and Dean's fingers twist in the soft fabric of your hoody. One of his arms is between your bag and your back, holding you in place. 

"Dean..." But you trail off, because what can you say?

"I'm sorry," he rushes out, voice wrecked. "I'm so fucking sorry."

And the worst thing is, you know he is. Which means you also know that you really do have to leave, because he wouldn't be asking you otherwise. 

"It's okay," you tell him, but it isn't, really. "I'll be fine." More confident now, your hand rubs tiny soothing circles into the small of his back.

"Yeah. Yeah, I know you will. You're a tough son of a bitch."

You smile at this, because that is high praise from Dean Winchester. But it's time to leave now, and you both know it.

"I will 'check in'," you assure him as you slowly, reluctantly disentangle yourself.

"Yeah, you better," Dean growls, and clutches you just a little tighter before he lets go completely. "This isn't forever, Cas. Okay? I swear. We'll sort all this angel shit out and then... This isn't forever."

And it's with this nice idea, this wonderful _promise_ , that you set off with your backpack full of Dean's things, back into the rain and the hunger and the running and the nightmares.


End file.
